


The Fishmen's Brides

by Sexsuna



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Bestiality, Crossdressing, Deep Ones, Dyed hair, Eggpreg, Eggs, Eldritch, Fellatio, Fetish Clothing, Fish People, Group Sex, Homophobia, Horror, Inter-Species Sex, Latex, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Pornography, M/M, Multi, Occult rituals, Oviposition, Wedding Dresses, cock-sucking, fishmen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7848484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexsuna/pseuds/Sexsuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small, ailing village spared the fate of many of its kind through secret communion with unhuman dwellers of the deep. The fate to which its children are thereby condemned. Though Yuito would be judged an eccentric youth by many polite people, the turn his life's about to take is as alien to him as to anyone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**November, 1898**

 

 

Wings. The flutter of the sea-gulls by the quays; the smell of fish, ever-present. The wooden houses huddled on the steep slopes down towards the water and the rocky beach beyond which protruded wooden piers whereon sat young boys with fishing rods. Small and larger wooden fishing boats were tied to some of the piers. On others lay disorganised piles of fishing net and fish traps. But there was worry in the air; had not the fish populations dwindled year by year? The future of the village seemed in jeopardy. The Kawashima Fishing Company, who operated a factory on the northern outskirts of the village, was not doing as good as it used to; the output had fallen by 21% in 1897, and there seemed to be no solution; the boats travelled further out, had more accidents whenever the weather conspired in anger, but came home with no more fish to show for the effort.

In the house on the border of a small ancient – and abandoned – silk farm outside of town, lived the old man; whose face was worn with age and grimace interminably repulsive in some way that was hard to comprehend. The parents of the village told their children not to look too deeply into his eyes, telling them that if they so did, they might be sucked into his sick mind and never again come out. There were plentiful rumours about the man; but few knew him well, though he had been born in the village, and now returned in his old age to await the bitter end that eventually came for all.

He had been born in the 30’s, and lived half his life during the dying days of the Shogunate; already then he had been dabbling in matters of science and medicine, and his penchant for this had been the start of the strange rumours that were so popular today. In the 1870’s, when working as a specialist at an educational institution in Osaka, he had participated in a project exploring native settlements on Hokkaido’s north-western coast. Something had happened or been discovered there, though the stories diverged on the details – which were sparse to begin with – and the man had not been the same since. Even his name was not certain; he claimed it was Takashi Uzaka, but no one by that name existed in the town’s birth records.

This was perhaps not entirely unexpected; the records were after all not entirely complete. But this little fact only added to the mystery around the fellow; and the way he’d sit at night on a wooden chair out on the piers, staring into the waters, was disturbing. Some men of action in the village even discussed the possibility of driving him away or having some doctor check in on him. But so far, nothing had come to fruition.

 ◊

On November 3, 1898, when the fish harvest of the year was shaping up to be the worst ever (with some expecting a drop over 30% from the previous year), and the volatile economy was weighing oppressively upon everyone aware of its consequences, a meeting was held in the town administration building – which at the time was the only structure of more than one storey in the entire settlement – to discuss the matter. Theories were aired; the fish were leaving. A young man proposed that the fish had, through some collective intelligence, realised that the area was harmful and had thus “learned” to avoid the region. Many laughed; someone pointed out that, surely, if this _could_ happen, it would have happened much earlier, and other areas would be as badly hit. On the discussion went, aimless discussions and fearful predictions for the future, until the situation overall had turned quite tumultuous.

And so the old man – whose presence at the conference had previously not been noted by many – stood up, and asked to be allowed to make a comment and a suggestion. No one had any objections, though the majority expected complete insanity. When the man then promptly said that the problem was that the fishermen in the town had simply caught too many of the local fishes and that the local fish population had declined, there were indeed a few laughs and quite a few who were ready to judge him mad; but when he said that he had knowledge of a rare kind that could dramatically alter the situation at a cost that was very slight to them, even the mockers were keen to listen.

Though the idea he proposed seemed even madder than the thought of the fish running out, as if it was not an infinite resource bestowed upon man by the gods, there was a certain logic to it, and since many of the attendees were well aware of the strange rumours surrounding his past, they were more eager to believe than they would otherwise have been. So when he told his story, they did listen; and although not all present were persuaded, enough were interested to agree to meet the old man at his house some hours later. It was then that the real story, insofar as it involved the small village of Kawajiri, had its beginning.

  ◊

It was the second of October, 1872, and in 9 days’ time the first railway between New Bridge Station on the outskirts of the Eastern Capital, down the coast to Harbour-side (which is to say, the city of Yokohama) would open; the early years after the Meiji revolution had repressed the last influential hangers-on of the feudal order and opened the way for the bourgeois revolution and eventual industrialisation. In the far north of Hokkaido, however, things were still tranquil and vastly unexploited. Only some twenty years ago, the population of the island had been in the tens of thousands; and although it now had surpassed two hundred thousand as government colonisation effort got underway to ascertain political domain over the rocky island, most of it remained untouched. Following a winding stream through the mountains (in what was officially sanctioned as a zoological expedition to retrieve specimens chartered by the state) southeast of Kushiro settlement in what was then Kushiro province, near Akkeshi Bay, they encountered a very small settlement.

As the expedition, a total of five men, came to the village, they found that it was, as far as they could see, abandoned. The typical simple Ainu huts with straw roof and basic wooden walls supported in areas by simple earthen supports were mostly intact, but a few of them – those closest to the sea – shewed signs of damage, though it could be, the men reasoned amongst themselves, the work of storms.

They looked through the houses, their basic interiors; dirty, as if it had been some time since the residents had left. They had evidently done so with planning, as most pots and interior furniture, including most of the hide-beds, were missing. House by house they searched, and finally, with only a few to go (out of a total of mayhap 35), they found a worn old man, who rambled to himself in a language none of them could understand.

He seemed desperate to get out of there, as if he had been left as punishment for something he had done, and the rest who had left had refused to let him come, and his legs were broken. Swollen and obviously fractured, he must have been in great pain, though he whined none of it, as far as they could tell; he only repeated the same phrase, again and again, pointing out towards the sea, and then looking longingly inland.

Two of them, Takashi Uzaka not amongst them, decided that they would take him to Kushiro. The trip was not too long, and since they had water and food with them which they let the man have, he would probably make the trip. The group helped to craft a makeshift wooden stretcher on which to carry the man, and small and underweight as he was, he was not a heavy burden to carry. So they shuffled him off; and Uzaka saw in his gaze a great relief that he no longer was so close to the sea; the relief seemed so great that he cried as he vanished away upon that stretcher.

They continued their investigation of the abandoned village. Little was left, but a strange set of notes he found, and a wooden basket filled with grotesque artefacts of glittering metal the likes of which he had never seen, and on which were carven figures of deformed fish with appendages growing in a mockery of a human shape, of bloated squid-like things and, most profane of all, a large heavy sculpture of some heavy black stone, weathered by erosion around the corners and having traces of ancient moss that had proved too difficult for whoever tried to restore it to scratch off; it had a base, thick and square, as if it was meant to sit on a shelf in a blasphemous living room somewhere. Since the thing was black and worn, many of the details were hard to spot, but all the men who saw it felt the same thing. An inexplicable horror and bizarre repulse, which seemed all the more alien to them because they were men of science, who thought that they had their emotions and follies in check, but yet something about its appearance, the way that the fish-like features, that frog-like mouth with the large bloated ribbed lips that seemed like those of an improperly frozen cadaver in a medical school, the arms that looked not like arms at all but were thick tendrils overgrow with something like warts or huge suckers, and the way the eyes were shaped... it all combined to some existential horror that made them all feel physically ill.

When leaving, they brought with them many artefacts. Though they agreed not to bring that wicker basket full of profanities, Takashi Uzaka felt an imp of the perverse, chased onward by his scientific curiosity (at least that was what he thought of it as), and brought one of the shiny metal objects – oblong and white-gold in colour it was covered in weird engraved vistas of watery depths and unshapely hieroglyphics unlike anything he had ever seen reproduced in textbooks – as well as the manuscript, whatever it would turn out to be, stuffed in his rucksack.  And so they left that empty desolate village; but something happened then that made the discovery even more sinister in his memory.

As they climbed a high hill rising inland, and he peered back towards the village, with its huddle of primitive houses, he saw – or thought he saw – a strange dark-green shape moving near the water’s edge. It was, he would think as they returned to Kushiro, very much like that thing on the engraving. Later, he would reason that it was the effect of seeing the profane sculpture that haunted the corridors of his mind, but at that moment he could not doubt he was seeing what he thought he saw. Like tentacles the fat arms squirmed as the thing walked on legs which, though superficially like those of a human, were clearly a degenerate form; for as a step was taken and he beheld their shape revealed, the feet were not feet at all, but like second hands; only there were no fingers, only wriggling sickly tentacles, the suckers reddish pink and the topside dark, mottled; looking abnormally uneven and deformed, as if disintegrating due to gangrene.  Then it was gone, vanishing behind one of the houses, and one of the other expedition participants called his attention elsewhere.

  ◊

The man seemed to recover in Kushiro – but the town was close to the water, so on October 21, after putting on weight and strength – and having his legs looked after – the man suddenly disappeared. The fractures in his legs, the doctors said, could not have healed; and the question was never answered just how he got out of the third-storey room in the military infirmary where he was kept without anyone noticing it.

But the translation of the manuscript went well; on November 2 it was finished, and the translator told Uzaka – who had handed it to him urging the utmost discretion and silence about it to others -  that it was some of the most deranged ramblings he had ever seen. And Uzaka read – and it dawned upon him that he believed every word of the manuscript to be true. There was no doubt in his mind.

The story, briefly put, told of an ancient legend which was influential, not in Ainu natives as such, but in that particular village; a strange connection with a submarine force, whose nature was almost invariably avoided as a topic of discussion. The people of the village, it was said, were shunned by other groups, at least those who knew of their secret connection. The things, often described only by a word that meant something along the lines of ‘the below ones’, offered an endless supply of fish in return for curious rituals, which seemed mostly harmless; the dumping of bodies of the dead into the water (they did not demand anyone be killed), as well as animal sacrifices. It was said that they much appreciated the scent of blood in the water, though the manuscript attributed that not to primal blood thirst but to attracting sharks – for reasons unknown. 

There were mentions and descriptions of rituals by which means one could call up the _below things_. They were said to be rather diplomatic. Towards the end of the manuscript, something had gone awry, and the things were upset, though it was not said why. It seemed that their submarine habitat had somehow been disturbed, and that they blamed the villagers, that they had done something. It was on this note that the manuscript ended. Uzaka found it not entirely satisfactory.

   ◊

The men who had come to Takashi Uzaka’s house were, at least some of them, quite impressed with the little story. These men knew a thing or two about Uzaka’s past, and knew better than to merely disregard his tale as being spawned from benign madness. The story of the village, some of them had heard from other sources; and late expeditions to the same site had found the village gone, swallowed up by the sea, as it were, possibly by a tsunami. Rubble lined the coast in the narrow valley, but none of the unusual artefacts that had been left could be recovered. Some straw and wooden planks left from the walls could be found, however, giving some credence to the report by the expedition.

The men were quick to decide; perhaps owing to the urgency of the situation, which they, being the business elite – entirely dependent upon fishing – were particularly well-informed about. The concerns that existed – such as whatever had happened to the village – they did not stop to consider. Tomorrow night, they urged, Uzaka must go with them, and perform, as well as he remembered, the rituals required to call out of the sea the things as would bring fish in plenty.

And though Uzaka voiced concerns and urged that they go forward only slowly, the men would not listen; it would happen forthwith; the potential was endless, they thought. Alas, they would set out tomorrow, there was nothing Uzaka could say that would limit their fervent and unwarranted enthusiasm, they were as spellbound.

  ◊

And out at sea the night thereafter in a dinghy three men went, with a pig along for the ride; and into the depths, Uzaka threw that strange shimmering stone, near to where out of the sea protruded a craggy sinister rock upon which throughout the ages many a ship had run aground. This done, the pig was sacrificed; a knife in the gut and the blood spilling out, and the blood-curdling screams of animal anguish, which took so long to stop; and the men stood around, reciting some incomprehensible mantra which Uzaka had shared with them – that had come from the same dreaded manuscript, though the translator had assured him it was no language known to him. It might be that they got the words wrong, that their stress was in the wrong place, and that the sounds were far from perfect; but what did that matter? Surely the things as lived below the surface would not discriminate.

And ten days later, there appeared inside a worn-looking chest placed upon that craggy little rock a strange message scribbled on a parchment chemically treated (impervious as necessary to water), written in perfectly legible Japanese; indeed, the writing was quite exquisite and ornamental, such as would only be written by a person of considerable refinement.

And that was how things came to be as they did.  


	2. Chapter 2

**November, 2031**

 

In the large disability-access restroom at the run-down concrete box that housed the changing rooms for the public city-owned pool, Yoshito let his enormous member slip out of the zipper on the front of his trousers; half-erect it drooped down by the force of gravity yet even in this state it retained an air of majesty. Rumours had it being the largest prick in the village. Yuito took a hard grip of it and pulled, and it inflated slowly.

“Come on,” said Yoshito awkwardly, “suck it and finish up. Before someone comes and finds us here.” He looked down at Yuito, who was seated on the toilet, with a slight anxiety and perhaps embarrassment in his gaze. Yuito meanwhile felt how the worry made Yoshito’s cock grow slacker in his hand, so he rubbed it gently and soon had it restored to full working order.

“But—” Yuito said, “I’d prefer it in my butt.”

“That is nasty!” Yoshito objected and flinched, “I don’t want to get any shit on it or anything!”

“I promise, I’ll clean it if I do soil it!”

“By the gods! – even worse! Arses weren’t made to be fucked. They are for removing waste only. And I don’t see any lube.”

“I didn’t bring any.” The sizable member was growing softer again, like a dropping mood indicator. “I can just cover it in spittle.”

“Then it might corrode!”

Yuito laughed, almost hysterically. “I’m sorry, but what?”

“Saliva corrodes the anus.”

“Not really,” Yuito replied, stifling further laughter. “But it’s my anus, not yours, so what does it matter?”

“I’m not really comfortable putting in inside a boy! I don’t mind letting you suck, but I don’t really swing that way.”

“Well, it is a waste of such a fine member, if it does not enter into someone’s arsehole. You know what they say—”

Mid-sentence, Yoshito simply took hold of his own cock and stuffed it into Yuito’s mouth. Undoubtedly he realised what would now follow, a long exposé into the annals of historic buggery hither and thither across the world and through the ages, and he wasn’t interested in listening to it. It was boring, that was all, terribly dull.

The member grew to prodigious size within Yuito’s hot cavernous mouth, and it was quite a rigid thing, despite its size, pointing quite furiously upwards and angled slightly towards the left, so that it took some gymnastics for Yoshito to fuck his mouth, but somehow, he did it. He took a handful of Yuito’s blue-and-pink-dyed hair and dragged, making the tropical island bird gag and cough, but despite this he shewed no reluctance and went on quite harshly with his scheme. Yoshito was in fact a year younger than Yuito, and he was thus not long to reach the spending point, sensitive and sexually inexperienced as he was, and perhaps quite a bit more homo than he’d ever admit. He pulled the cock out; coughing, Yuito frigged a few passes, and out shot a brief few jets of semen, most of which ended up on Yuito’s lips, dripping from there down his chin and onto the sandstone-coloured tiles below.

Clearing his throat, Yuito said, “You’ve been wanking today, haven’t you? Look the way your semen is. Thin and transparent.”

“So? I had to rub one out before I left home. Didn’t want to walk around with an erection. I better be off.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Yuito queried, but there was no answer. Not that there usually was. Hounded on by shame, he’d run off as fast as he could. Presumably he retreated into another bathroom to cry with embarrassment.

Yuito wiped some of the semen off his high-waist black PVC corset (high so that it revealed his flat stomach and the navel with the ring which pierced its rim) and took his long black coat (also made of PVC) off the hook on the wall beside the toilet and donned said item. He furthermore wore a pair of over-elbow PVC gloves and a studded black collar around his neck.

The coat assured that the otherwise skimpy outfit was not so apparent (consisting as it did of, besides aforementioned pieces, a shiny pleated miniskirt which reached not even half-way down his thighs, black and white striped stockings held up by garters on the inside of the skirt, as well as pair of black knee-high boots with thick square heels and platforms, of remarkable height). He wiped off the mascara that had run from his tears when Yoshito’ fucked his mouth and applied some new to make up for that which was lost, and reapplied some dark red lipstick (almost black), and thereafter put the accessories back into his (like so much else) black shiny purse, and pulled it over his shoulder and left the bathroom.

It was morning, and the breeze blew in salty from the bay. The leaves rustled, and the town was quiet. He walked down along the coastal road, passed by only a scant few automobiles, until he arrived at the shop just across a paved open square from the city government’s offices. He slipped in, browsed aimlessly the droll and limited stock on offer, settled for a cheap soda, paid for it, and left. The stare of the clerk was always uncomfortable; it seemed always disturbingly penetrating, sinisterly unflinching. He didn’t know the man’s name; he never seemed to speak except when in the company of some other friends when off work, usually sitting outside Mizukawa’s Tavern just around the corner. In the summer they’d set up tables on the street outside, put up a few parasols, and people would sit and chat uselessly.

Yuito didn’t like that, for they often looked weirdly at him.

He walked up the hill towards the family home; though for a long time it had just been his father and he. His mother had divorced his father when he was 7, and she was nowhere to be found. From what his father had told him, attempts at locating her were fruitless. She had disappeared into the amorphous mass of the main-land.

Although Kawajiri was actually not on an island, the residents often thought of themselves as islanders. The nearest city, Nagato, also in the Yamaguchi Prefecture, was generally regarded as the ‘mainland’; the rugged, uneven and bloated peninsula along whose coast Kawajiri was located protruded out into the Sea of Japan; perhaps it was only natural that the insular and aged population regard themselves as islanders. If you looked out to sea from Cape Kawashiri (there was a run-down tourist centre there with parking for those enjoying the view), north-west of the village, the ocean stretched on interminably; out there in the azure flats where the white geese now and then reared their heads when whipped up by the wind was the island of Mishima. Most of the time the sea was shrouded in haze, but it was doubtful one would’ve seen the island even if it were clear; at least without some heavy equipment.

Throngs of Rhododendron grew on the top of a rocky outcropping as Yuito turned onto a narrower lane reaching up towards the house. He passed by the house of the Akeno family (only the old woman, who always walked with her back hunched, lived there now; the children had all moved off to cities near and far, and the husband had committed suicide two years prior, something which had been quite the popular matter of discussion when proliferated by the jungle telegraph; rumours about debts unpaid and loan sharks hounding the old man for money abounded) followed by trees, and then, finally, his own house. It was an old single-storey affair with plentiful screen-doors; though his father had at some point replaced the outer walls with more solid, modern wooden ones; perhaps around the turn of the millenium. He walked up the two steps to the porch, unlocked the door (his father was working) and entered. He wiped his shoes off on the red fluffy door mat (read WELCOME in English; yellow block letters) and made for his room.

The walls were quite in keeping with the rustic and antiquated nature of the house as a whole; treated timber walls, a warm, firey wooden hue. He had a modern bed (pink bed sheets), a large black chest of drawers (it did not entirely go well with the rest of the room, but he didn’t care about such things, he was not – contrary to stereotypes – big on interior design), a desktop with a computer and a chair, and a bookshelf. A disturbing proportion of the books were old school text books and similar school-related things. Bored, he slipped down on his bed and rolled over to face the wall.

In that position, sleep found him; and he slept until his father’s harsh knocking roused him once more, hours later.


	3. Chapter 3

“Yui-chan,” his father called at the door, “come out of your room. There’s something we need to talk about.”

Yuito stirred in his bed, yawned, rolled to the edge and sat up, then walked to the door and opened it.

“What?”

“Come to the living room. It’s important.”

Yuito sighed, but followed his father.

He was a short man with black stubby hair (he often wore ceremonial vestments on his hair, he had explained, and that was why it had to be kept so short; Yuito remembered comparisons to pope-hats), right now sporting a drab blue and white sports suit. He often wore those after work.

Yuito sat down in the sofa. The television set was on, but he didn’t pay attention to it. Bland advertisement flashed by. Outside the sky was in explosive disintegration and doomsday glow; the time on the DVD player read 17:21.

“You might have realised this, but this town isn’t like others,” began his father after he sat down in his favourite arm-chair, leaned back lazily, his eyes moving from the television to Yuito and back again. Yuito had expected his father to show more disapproval of his manner of dress and other activities, insofar as he knew of them, but his father was oddly accepting. He had always seemed a conservative man, but clearly, he did not mind it one bit. _It was almost as if he actually welcomed it..._

“Is it really that much different from other small dying towns in the gradually depopulating regions?”

His father cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, “there are things here that aren’t anywhere else. You know that man in the shop, how his eyes never seem to close fully, how his blinks are mere perfunctory spasms around his eyes? How it seems at times as if he has no eyelids at all? You remember too, the old mayor, the secrecy around his death? He never died at all. The shopkeeper, too, will not stay for ever. He will die; at least, that is what the official records will show. But that isn’t what happens to them.”

“They run off, like mum did?”

His father laughed. “No. She ran because…,” he paused in thought and took a deep breath, “she found certain things out. She couldn’t deal with them. It was understandable; she wasn’t from around here. I let her go, it was for the best. Some just aren’t made to stay, too afraid they are, of the great unknown and the uncanny; the profoundly weird.”

Yuito wasn’t sure what to think of what his father was spewing; but the man seemed sincere. Wataru Hiroka had always been a serious man, not one known for his jests.

“You don’t need to know everything yet, at this point,” he went on, “you will learn more as time goes on. Tonight, a special event is being held at the Hall. I expect you to come. Your friend, Yoshito, will be there as well; so his father assured me earlier today. 

 _What?_ Yuito thought. What were they planning over there? Did he have any say in the matter?

“What if I don’t want to come?” Yuito said.

“I... would be very disappointed if you did not participate in the festivities. It is nothing really serious. There’ll be good food and drinks.”

“I don’t suppose I have any real option?”

“Well, no, not really.” His father smiled. “But you won’t have a bad time.” There was a sinister glint in his face as he winked on that last thing, but he got up and walked off (to the kitchen, Yuito reasoned), so he didn’t think more of it.

 

It made all sorts of sense to Yuito, however, that there was something odd with the city; that Hall, too, really, what was that all about? His father just called it the Hall. It was a sturdy wooden building close to the combined city office and community centre’s concrete two-storey block; it had at one time been a warehouse for some fish-packing industry, though this was so long ago no one could remember it, evident only by the shape of the building. The interior had since been rebuilt, and now served as the religious centre of town.

There were numerous temples and similar outside of the town, but the residents shunned those in favour of the Hall. The sign above the door, which looked almost as old as the building with its weathered blackening planks, read HALL OF THE SEA. Yuito was not in regular attendance, and had no real understanding of the goings-on; it was simply something that never had interested him, even though his father was supposedly the current head-priest.

When the hour approached, he walked down to the Hall of the Sea, and entered through the back door. By that time the sun had gone down, though there were a lot of lamps lit along the roads leading up to the Hall, for whatever event was being held tonight.

At the entrance he was greeted by an old man, whom he had seen on numerous occasions since he was young. The man smiled and welcomed him, then took him to a small dressing and make-up room behind the scenes. A woman slipped in, had a look at him, but seemed generally satisfied with his make-up. “Undress,” she said.

That seemed off, but he supposed his father wanted him to don something strange, perhaps to be shown off. He decided he might as well entertain the whole concept for the time being, so he slipped out of his clothes, put them on the floor. He wore only his tight black thong when the woman came by anew, dropping off a covered basket, presumably of new clothes.

He opened the box, and was surprised by its content.

White clothes... shiny, rubbery white clothes.

His cock got hard looking at it; he wanted to wear it now, he didn’t care about the context. He even took off his thong. There was a pair of white shoes, with a high platform and chunky heels, at least 15 cm tall, which above the ankle transitioned promptly into stockings, tightened at the top with a buckle around his upper thigh. He stroked his erection a few times before he went on with the dressing; this time, the main part, which was a dress with a high ruffled collar and a short skimpy skirt, pleated with three tiers for volume. He zipped it up in the neck, and connected the garters it had to the top of the shoe-stockings. There was also a pair of gloves, which went up high above the elbows, and were connected to the dress with buckled suspenders. The mid-section of the dress sported a harder, more rigid corset-like part, which was tightened with hot pink buckles at the fore. A pink shiny collar he fitted around his neck, at the front of which was a large steel ring.

There was a mirror on the wall next to him; he inspected the dress in it. It looked good. He touched it; this was real quality latex. The fact that it looked a lot like it was intended as a wedding dress didn’t bother him; he had always had a penchant for those, anyhow.

“I knew you’d look good in that,” came a familiar voice from the door to the little booth; his father, dropping by. “I was not mistaken. You’ll make a beautiful bride. Those blue highlights in that pink hair, which you were always so fond of for the last few years, makes me think of the sea at sun-up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m sorry. But what must be done, must be done. You’ll know, and you’ll like it in soon enough. It’s almost as if you were meant for this.”

Yuito was going to ask what that meant, but he didn’t have the chance. Suddenly his father had tied his gloved arms together behind his back, and fastened a chain in the collar ring. Yuito began to struggle, and though he was larger than his father, he was perhaps not as strong; even more importantly, when his father pulled his arms behind him, his knees buckled, and he found his arse planted in a chair. Something was shoved in his face; a plastic cock. He kept his mouth closed until his father pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger, and he had to open his mouth to breathe. It slipped in. It was smaller than a real one, but large enough that, when his father tied some straps connected to it around the back of his head, he couldn’t talk; it was hard even to make subdued noises; the front of it looked like a plastic face-mask and covered the entire lower part of his face.

His father’s fingers slipped off his nose.

Then he was blindfolded. There was nothing to do but to go with the flow of the moment. Someone, perhaps his father, perhaps one of his minions from that warped cult of his, tugged at the chain and led him out of the room. He had a vague sense of direction and place – he had been there before, though it was long ago – and when he felt the big room yawn ahead of him he knew he was on the large estrade from where his father often would hold his... sermons.

They stopped; he felt the presence of others on the stage, heard them moving. Some muffled noises; he wasn’t the only one with his mouth gagged, it seemed.

“These four are our princesses for the night!” his father spoke to the crowd. “They are beautiful girl-boys, aren’t they? The perfect wives!”

The crowd cheered. Yuito wasn’t sure how many could be present, but clearly, there were more involved in this cult than he had ever anticipated.

“We shall take them to the Black Goat’s Cove, and offer them as brides! That is what they let me know the other week. We arranged this rather hurriedly, but I am certain that they will, nevertheless, be pleased.”

“I am sure our boys will be happy too.”

Noises of approval from the crowd. Tugging on the chain again; they moved once more, off the stage this time, and soon he felt the cold night breeze. Yuito imagined the stars above as they walked down the road along the coast; picturing in his head the approximate location of the concrete wall that stretched the distance, and the rocky beach below, and the breakwater of ragged concrete stumps further out. They walked for what seemed like quite a while, until the coastal road came to an end; there, they went up a steeply sloping path, that soon evened out. He had an approximate idea of where they were, but had never gone this far before in this direction. He felt people walking behind him; his father was present, he heard him talk, though could not make out much of what he said, except promises of future riches and “fulfilment of obligations”.

Eventually they stepped up onto a small wooden platform.

The crowds began to chant in unison. Gibberish, Yuito thought, utter profane gibberish. He began to fear that ‘offer’ would involve ritual murder, despite what his father had said. It seemed ritual murder would be more likely to bring results... at least such were his thoughts until the crowd suddenly fell silent; when rose instead from all their gullets awestruck exhalations. Then he began to worry what exactly kind of wicked thing he had become involved in.


	4. Chapter 4

Yuito remembered then, out of nowhere, a brief episode from many a year ago. He had been standing on the sea wall, fishing to forget his thoughts on life and the fleeting horror of it all, how we are all slowly rotting as the cells get corrupted, when Yoshito had walked up to him and pulled at the ankle-end of his socks. His face looked worried and despondent. Yuito wasn’t sure how old they had been at the time; around 12 he guessed. It was a warm summer day, and the smell of fish, always ever-present and keen to slip in everywhere, was unusually light. The waters glittered under the harsh sun.

“I’m running away,” Yoshito had said. “I’ll move to a big city and become a host.”

Yuito was quite taken aback by that absurd outburst, but he put his fishing rod down and jumped off the wall. “Why?” he asked.

“I heard mum and dad argue... Mum was angry at dad for something. I didn’t hear all of it... but it had something to do with me. Mum kept saying we were going to move away, but father didn’t want to... said he had responsibilities... it made me feel strange and sad that they were arguing about me. Mum said I have no future here...”

Yuito felt like saying there was no future anywhere, but he kept that cynicism inside for the time being. He patted Yoshito on the head; at the time, Yoshito was shorter than he by quite a measure. “Those things happen,” he had told him, “but it will be all right.”

 _It will be all right_ , he thought – and now what? His father had told him that Yoshito would be present here as well. Yoshito’s father had been involved in the cult, too, though Yuito was not sure exactly on what level. Though the situation had not been serious, he felt a strange guilt that he had tried to calm Yoshito down that day and get him on other thoughts when he wanted to run away from town. It seemed now that it had been a very precocious plan of action.

Those old memories felt so queer, too. It was like recalling scenes from a film, detached from himself; when he spoke, it was not he that did, but an actor or some other placeholder that relayed some repugnant cosmic will.

But now, now was now, in that fish-smelling cove. His arms hurt from being tied in an uncomfortable position behind his back, which he was not used to; despite this, his cock was erect; he hoped that the pleats of the skirt were enough to hide it from view.

The sound of people walking away to await the ritual’s conclusion; steps on the stony shores and back along the path towards the village. His father stepped up on the platform, he could tell from the sound of his breathing.

He recited some words in that detestable guttural tongue, and then, he spoke in Japanese to some others:

“These will be your loving wives! Take them to the house, as it has been made ready.” Yuito felt some ring being slipped onto his left gloved ring finger, then his right. Was he going to be the wife of two men? Either way, that made his erection throb harder. He heard someone, his father, probably, walking off the platform just as a strange fishy odour hit Yuito. It was an odd scent, not like that of the fish packing warehouse in the harbour, it was sweeter, yet decidedly fish-like. _Not at all unpleasant_ , he thought.

He was embraced by large uneven arms; felt fingers play with his well-styled hair-plume, and then he was scooped up like a little cat and carried with rocking motions away. He breathed in the sweet fish-stench and it made his sexual arousal even more profound, tried to think of other things, but it was no use...

They ascended the stone-hewn steps of a house. He knew where it must be, for between town and the cove there was only a single place he knew of; an old house wherein no one had lived for as long as he could recall, which lay alone some distance from town right on the little path that ran along the water’s edge in the shadow of a single-wire telephone line; nestled into the bottom of a steep hillside.

It was quite warm inside, and they went up a further flight of stairs to an upper storey. Yuito felt himself being put down on a large high bed, face down, and then the rope tying his hands was removed; then his blindfold. They kept the gag in.

He turned on the bed. The room was dark; he saw the two men only as silhouettes, their edges illumined by the light of the stars and the lone lamp fixed to one of the telephone poles outside. They were big, and the odour was strong. He sat up on the bed’s edge as one of them took a step closer, a long sturdy hand reaching for him, patting his head, dragging the fingers down along his neck, down his shoulders, over the gloves, over the midsection of his dress, down to the skirt; it reached underneath and took hold of his penis, stroked it a few times. Yuito twitched.

The light was switched on.

For a few seconds the room was pure white. Then his eyes adjusted to the changes.

The hand pulled back from his genitals.

“Now you know,” the thing spoke, “that we are hideous.” Its accent was cultured and learned, but had a strange melodic quality to its pronunciations. “We don’t mean to deceive, but sometimes, it is necessary.”

They were both large, and stark naked; parts of their bodies were covered with ribbed growths and the overall colour-scheme was blueish green. Their mouths were large and wide, their lips wet bands beyond which gleamed big yellow teeth that looked anything but human. Their general body plan was decidedly humanoid, but seemed simultaneously like a mere pastiche thereof; their fingers were long and ended in swollen nail-less stumps. Their erections were large and beautiful, with dark glans and coarse veined foreskin. Their heads sported something that looked like hair but was probably something else, thin half-transparent tendrils that now and then moved.

Yuito was not horrified.

In fact, his cock still stood as rigid as ever.

The two beastly things stood over by the door, as if waiting for him to make a choice.

He was quickly on his feet, and walked over to them; and put a hand around either dick.

“You don’t mind the way we look?” one of them asked.

He shook his head, still stroking their cocks. Some mucus leaked from one of the tips; transparent and glassy like drool in quite generous volume. He gathered some of it on the tip of a gloved finger, turned around and wetted his anus with it, teasingly, letting his buttocks face their erections.

The one which had leaked that voluminous pre-come moved forward, more of it leaking from his length all the while; as it stroked it wetted its length entirely, coating it in that slimy lubricant.

Yuito slipped down with his knees on the floor and his upper body resting on an armchair (arranged around a table in the middle of the room; there was also a large canopy bed with white silken hangings, which evidently was what he had been put down on first, as well as a television). The back of his skirt flipped up, he parted his cheeks with latex covered hands.

And so his husband’s big dark cock made its way into him; he squirmed; the first husband took his time, thrusting gently as Yuito’s hole gave way, letting the fat manhood in.

It felt great as his hole stretched to receive. He panted against the mask on his face. The thing went in and out of his arse, which had seen traffic before, but all inward bound had been strictly artificial; now it was filled with that organic, pulsating warm cock-flesh. Yuito reckoned they must feel even better than real human dicks.

Second Husband stood behind and watched, until First slipped out and let Second dip his wick as well; his tool was perhaps even larger. Yuito wanked First off as Second kept fucking his arse; he couldn’t suck it with his mask.

“After we’ve come,” said First, “we’re going to put our eggs inside you. They will stay there and mature, and you will give birth in three weeks; laying the young in the water. Is that okay?”

Yuito turned around, got up on his feet; looking at his husbands, he nodded. He wanted to be pregnant with their eggs. Mayhap they would nurse them by fucking him; _he could only hope_.

They grabbed him by the arms gently and walked with their bride between them to the bed. They lay him down in the middle thereof, and he put his legs up; they resumed the fucking, and it was wonderful.

After they had both come inside him, one after the other, they brought forward something else. It was some kind of appendage which a human does not have, which originated from somewhere near their perineum; it was a thin semi-transparent tube-like thing, and one from each they inserted it into his hole gently.

They asked if he was ready, and he nodded; and then he saw how the eggs, light-coloured, a dirty sandy white, slightly larger than a thumb, began to flow through the tubes and into him. He felt how the tube moved inside of his intestine, and they both rubbed his belly comfortingly as they filled him; and he came from that sensation alone without rubbing his cock. When they were done they seemed pleased, and they fucked him some more, and then they all fell asleep under the silvery silken canopy of the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning he was alone in the bed. He got up to find his way to the bathroom; under his clothes he was quite sweaty but did not really care. The door stood ajar, and within, he found one of the other boys from last night, on his knees leaning into the white bathtub, crying. Feeling slightly compassionate, Yuito walked up to him, still a bit groggy, and put his hand on his shoulder. The boy was not Yoshito, he could see when he turned around – it was a boy he had seen before in the small town, but did not know the name of. His hair was long, straight and shiny black, and he had removed his face-mask, revealing his mouth rounded by thick black lipstick. He seemed to stop sobbing at the sight of someone else in the same situation.

“You’re one of the others, eh?” he said. “Did they do things to you?” The boy paused. “Why am I asking? Of course they did. We must get out of here... who knows what this sick stuff is all about! Putting their dicks into us, and those things... what does it all mean? Our parents have forsaken us!”

Yuito looked at the boy quizzically. He reached behind his head and found the attachment for the face mask, opened it, and spat out the cock-shaped mouthpiece and put the thing down on the washbasin next to him. “I liked it,” he said.

“What?” the boy looked now troubled and perplexed. “How could you like that? You must be one of those gays... But even then... don’t you see? This is abnormal, what is going on here! We have to get out! Escape!”

“Well...”

“I was just having my hair like this and wore make-up because the girls like it... I want to be showered in attention by them... not by some monsters!”

“You have poor taste,” Yuito said dismissively.

“But – you can’t like this, can you? You must help me!”

“Considering where we are from, this is hardly the worst prospect.”

“I was going to move! To the big city... Osaka... Tokyo, maybe... anywhere but here, a place where things happen, where the people are, where things are in and now, eventful, active! Not this sordid forgotten backwater...”

“And you’d arrive there like so many others before you, seeking success, happiness, whatever it is, and you’d find yourself disappointed, and you’d go on these trite pilgrimages back to the old town, this place, this collection of dying fisheries on a foul-smelling coast, and what? You’d be crushed by the city. Chewed and spat out half-digested. Pointless. Why not stay here? For the ride if nothing else. Lots of sex...”

“I don’t like being fucked!” The boy stood up, uneasy on the heels, clearly not used to it. “I don’t like any of this! I wanted a good job, a wife, children!”

Fuck _that_ , Yuito thought with disgust. But, on the other hand, he was very curious to know what would happen if they were caught. Perhaps they would be punished... and he wanted to see that. His cock stiffened under the skirts. “I haven’t seen them around,” he began, “so maybe we can just up and leave. I doubt there’s even a working lock on this place...”

“You think?” the boy said with his face full of hope. Vain hopes...

“Yes, it’s certainly a possibility! Want to try?” Yuito tried to keep from smirking or giving any hints of the failure he was certain would face them. Surely the door would be locked, and certainly someone would be keeping an eye on them on their first day as captive brides! He reached for his face-mask.

“Do you like wearing that thing?” The boy seemed doubtful it was possible.

“Yes, I like having something in my mouth. Oral fixation...” He put it on and closed it behind his neck. The boy thought he was weird, that he could tell, but the situation being what it was, he had no choice. The boy began to leave the bathroom, and Yuito flipped the seat on the toilet up and did his business, before he followed.

By then the boy was already at the bottom of the stairs, and he somewhat hurried down (at least the boy walked slowly and awkwardly, so it was easy to catch up).

They didn’t hear anything on the approach to the front door. The boy was first to reach it, with Yuito just behind. The boy tried the handle and pulled inwards, but the door was – as Yuito knew it would be – locked. The boy’s hopes were crushed, and he turned with a frown towards Yuito, seeking perhaps some affirmation, some new suggestion that could work, but soon his face was seized by unmitigated fear, and Yuito felt the presence behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” said a harsh, almost croaking voice.

It was not one of Yuito’s husbands, but it was one of _them_. The Fishmen.

“Let me leave! I don’t want this!” the boy whined.

“You must be punished for your transgression,” said the man. “Please come with me.” They followed him. What was there to do? Their pathetic escape attempt, insofar as it had been one at all, had been foiled. In the living room they met two others of the Fishmen, one of which was First. They talked in hushed voices between each other, before they turned to Yuito and the boy with their unblinking cold eyes.

“We’ll take you down and shackle you in the basement. We’ll keep extra watch over you. It doesn’t do any good to contemplate escape, it is a waste of time and effort.”

They reattached chains to both their collars (they had been removed the previous night) and they were thereafter led down a narrow flight of stairs to the dark basement, and taken to a small room each. The boy was taken into one first, then Yuito. The chain was fastened to a strange loop that protruded from the far fall; aside from this the room was entirely barren, the walls, floors and ceiling all wooden and aged. He sat down on the floor; his hands were tied together at the wrists. Yuito and the boy did not talk through the thin wall that separated them. There was nothing to say.

First and Second soon came to the room. Their strange alien expressions mimicking something like concern, and their wet skin glistened on their naked bodies; their cocks hung half-hard, swaying as they walked up to him.

First took his mask and mouthpiece off and put it on the floor beside him.

“Why did you try to escape?”

He was reluctant to reply; not sure what to say. He licked his lips. “I just wanted to see how I would be punished...” he finally replied.

First and Second exchanged glances. “We should feed him”, First said. Second nodded.

Second sat down on the floor beside Yuito, with his back against the wall; he pulled at his own cock, and it inflated. Yuito correctly surmised that he was to sit on it, so he got up, positioned himself, and let it slip inside; Second reached around him and pulled him backwards so that he leaned on him, back to breast. The cock was warm and comforting in his arse.

“Are you hungry?” one of them asked, he wasn’t sure which in arse-fucked bliss. But he was hungry.

“Yes,” he said.

A moist hand came to his cheek, turning his head to face Second. They kissed. That long slender tongue played around in Yuito’s mouth, until it stopped suddenly, and something else came flowing up. It was warm, mushy, oily, and tasted of fish and seafood in general, with a hint of acid. It filled Yuito’s mouth, but he could not spit it out, as their mouths were locked in a vacuum seal; so he swallowed it, felt it slip down his throat, that regurgitated meal. It kept coming, and before it had ended he felt quite full. Their lips finally parted. His mouth reeked of raw fish.

Then it was time for First to do the same; he leaned in over him (Yuito reached for First’s cock in the meanwhile and began to jerk it) and they kissed and he was fed in the same manner that pasty fish-mix. He felt very bloated when it was all done, it must have been a huge meal.

When he had finished, Second began to fuck his arse and he was allowed to, for the first time, suck on one of their cocks. It had a tinge of fish to its taste as well. Good thing was he liked fish... even after being fed so much of it.

Second wanked his cock for him as he sucked and was fucked. Yuito was the first to come. After a while, Second and First changed places with each other. He rode that cock hard for some time, loving every second of it slipping in and out of his egg-stuffed insides. Second came in his mouth; the semen was salty and pleasant, tasting slightly like caviar, with a clear aftertaste of his own arse.

After First spent in his anus, he slipped off that cock and sucked it too, to capture the semen that had drivelled upon it from his hole, and made sure to explore extensively the underside of the loose foreskin. They both patted his head affectionately and told him not to try to escape again. He told them how it was, that he had only been curious to be punished, and they seemed amused thereby, commenting that he was perverted.

They left him thereafter. He lay down on the floor, exhausted.


End file.
